Chapter 21

The Doorbell and the Dream

Of course, he thought to himself 30 minutes later as he stood outside on his porch, reality could mean different things to different people. He seriously doubted most people would consider his life anywhere near reality. And sometimes, he had to agree. He was in the middle of listening to his doorbell yell at him. Yes, that's right. Yell. At him. Apparently, he had been gone for much too long tonight. He had expected a lecture and probably would have been a little disappointed if the doorbell hadn't at least said something. Harry liked the pleasure of slamming the door hard behind him, cutting the doorbell off mid-rant. He had fully expected to do this again tonight.

However, his plans had not taken into consideration one fact. The doorbell controlled the door's opening. Harry did not have a key to the door. There was no lock on the outside, despite the fact that there were about six of them on the inside. The doorbell simply opened the door when someone gave it the password and it thought the person was trustworthy enough to be let in. Tonight, the doorbell had decided that Harry was not worthy of entrance until he had been warned in the strictest terms about staying home more often. Harry tried to endure this lecture with good grace. He really had been gone for a very long time. He listened, nodding at the appropriate places, and finally the door opened and Harry slipped inside, locking the door carefully behind him. He thought the doorbell had been a little disgruntled that he had not promised to do better in the future, but Harry had to admit that if he could live tonight over again, he would. And he would enjoy it just as much. Except, he amended, he would kiss her this time. Definitely. Maybe twice.

He looked over at the portrait of Sir Lionel. Still sleeping. He apparently had not missed anything too exciting while he was gone. He definitely did not regret going to dinner tonight or to the movie. He had not had that much fun in a very long time.

He undressed slowly, remembering every detail of the evening. Cassie had been so nice to be with. He thought about how she had laughed and joked and really liked being with him. He was so lucky to know her. After he got into bed, he lay there, thinking about everything that had happened that evening. He was not sure how he was going to manage for two days without seeing her again. It was a long time before he finally fell asleep.

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He and Ron and Hermione were laughing together as they entered the Great Hall. There was going to be a feast and Harry was starving. The house tables were full of students, all talking and laughing. The three of them sat down in their usual place, which put him next to Dean Thomas and Ron next to Neville. Hermione sat across the table next to Lavender Brown and Ginny. Everyone was busy relating how their day had gone. Quiet suddenly descended on the hall, and Harry looked expectantly up at the head table. Dumbledore stood up to make some announcement or another and announce the opening of the feast. But. But. It wasn't Dumbledore. It was Voldemort. He was tall, dressed in the black robes he preferred. His red eyes were bright. He started speaking. The words coming out of his mouth were horrible, terrible words. He chanted curses that Harry recognized and many that he did not. But no one else seemed to notice anything unusual. Everyone else was still staring raptly up at Dumbledore/Voldemort, entranced. Harry looked around frantically. Did no one else notice? No one? He glanced instinctively at Slytherin's table. Most of them had the same blank happy stare that everyone at the other house tables had. Malfoy, however, flanked by his two stooges, looked smug. Harry thought it was obvious that he knew something was going on. But everyone else was clapping and smiling. Well, almost everyone. He turned again to look up and down his own Gryffindor table and met one panicked gaze. One. It was Ginny. Yes, she would know, she would know. . . .

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Harry woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat, eyes wide open in the darkness. That had been a very strange dream. Very strange indeed. He got up, grabbing his glasses off the bedside table. He flipped on the living room lamp again and had a definite sense of deja vu as he pulled out that same scrap of parchment from a few nights ago which he had tucked under the other pieces on the desk. He grabbed the quill and scribbled down everything he could remember of the dream. The details were fading quickly, running out of his memory almost as quickly as he could write.

When he laid down again this time in his bed, he tried to blank out his mind like he knew he should rather than thinking about Cassie. He fell quickly back to sleep and the sense of absolute horror that had been present during the dream stayed at bay. Next thing he knew, it was morning.

Harry lay in bed for a minute, trying desperately to remember what had disturbed him in the night. Oh, yeah, the dream. He couldn't remember much about it, other than the fact that Voldemort was in it. He did remember writing it down in the night. He really was going to have to start sleeping with the parchment, quill, and ink next to his bed. Ugh! This reminded him a little too much of that awful Trelawney and her "dream diary." His thoughts wandered slightly. That year, his dreams had been terrible - more like nightmares really. Then of course, there was the -----

Voldemort!!! Harry sat straight up in bed, an awful thought materializing where there had not been one before. Voldemort couldn't have planted that dream in his head, could he? Could he somehow have found out about Harry, sensed something? There was a very real feeling of panic rising in Harry's throat, now. He tried desperately to remember the details of the dream but could not really catch any of them. He got up out of bed quickly, running to the living room to grab the parchment scrap only to have to run back into the bedroom to grab his glasses before he could actually read anything he had written. The notes were pretty sketchy. It had something to do with Voldemort, the Great Hall, and a feast. He did remember the panicked feeling from the dream, though, and the scared look on Ginny's face. If Ginny was scared, something bad must have been happening.

Harry took a deep shuddering breath, trying to get control of the emotions now running rampant through his mind. He had learned a lot about controlling himself this last school year, and he forced his mind into the familiar blandness that had almost become second nature during occlumency lessons. He looked at the picture of Sir Lionel, who looked like he had not moved for a century, and seriously contemplated sending him with a message. He debated for a minute and then decided that although he felt extremely stressed at the moment, he really was not in mortal peril. He quickly grabbed a clean sheet of parchment and wrote a note to Dumbledore, describing the dream as best as he could from the scratches he had made last night and asking him if it was possible that Voldemort had found out about him. He felt safe in his little house, but he knew that he could not stay inside forever - even discounting seeing Cassie again, which Harry was not willing to do.

Harry's hand trembled as he finished the note. He had described the dream but had to ask the question that he really did not want an answer to. "Do you think there is any way that this dream could be another planted message from Voldemort? Do you think that somehow he knows I am still alive? Am I being used again?" He hoped that this last bit did not sound too pathetic. Before he could change his mind, Harry quickly stuffed the parchment into an envelope and stuck a stamp on it, scribbling the now familiar address of Dumbledore's friend onto the front.

He knew at that moment that staying inside permanently was really not going to work. He had to go outside right now to mail the dumb letter asking if he was safe to go outside. He hurriedly grabbed some clothes, threw them on, and stuffed his feet into his trainers. He practically ran to the mailbox on the corner and threw in the note. He hoped he would get an answer back soon. He breathed a little easier once he had redone all the locks on his front door without being accosted. He cursed a little under his breath. He hated feeling this way. He shoved his hand through his hair, still sticking straight up from his rough sleep. He needed a very long hot shower, he needed to eat, and he needed. . . . Harry was not really sure what he needed.

He ate first, throwing some toast into the toaster and scrambling some eggs. He considered cooking some bacon but decided against it. By the time he ate his last bite of toast and marmalade, he felt a little better and was realizing that he had probably over-reacted a little to a very stupid dream. He wished that somehow he could call the letter to Dumbledore back and edit out the questions at the end. But, since that was not possible, he would just have to be embarrassed over sounding so pitiful. Maybe Dumbledore wouldn't notice.

After the long shower that he had promised himself, Harry tried to decide what he wanted to do that day. He wanted to see Cassie, but he knew that wasn't possible. He cast around for another idea. He was going to have to do laundry fairly soon, but it could probably wait until tomorrow. Maybe by then, he would have heard from Dumbledore. He had plenty of food in the house and (he had to admit) even if he hadn't had much, he would not have gone shopping again. He was feeling very edgy this morning and knew he would not be comfortable out in public. So, lacking any definite plan, Harry reverted to how he had been when he had first arrived. He paced around a little, watched a little television, played solitaire several times, and read some more out of the novels he had bought on one of his first shopping trips. He even contemplated baking something sweet but decided against it. He also managed to nap a little bit, although this surprised him. The day dragged by, lunch seemingly 15 hours after breakfast and dinner seeming like it might as well be a week away rather than six hours after lunch.

Harry kept looking at Sir Lionel, expecting him to leave, but he stubbornly refused to leave the portrait. Harry knew that no information would be coming from Dumbledore until the old knight left the portrait when Dumbledore called him into service. Of course, as is usual in these sort of situations, he left when Harry had given up looking the portrait at all and had instead decided to do a really thorough cleaning of the refrigerator. It was when Harry was busily scrubbing out one of the vegetable bins that he heard Sir Lionel calling to him.

Finally!

"Well, Sir Lionel, what is going on?" Harry wiped his hands dry on a rag and moved over to stand in front of the portrait.

"A message from Albus Dumbledore." The knight cleared his throat. "Harry, I am sorry that you are so concerned. I agree that the dream you had last night was very interesting, but I can assure you, it is not from Voldemort. He is convinced that you are dead. Of that, I am positive. Things are moving as I expected they would and moving at about the speed I expected. But the time is not yet right for your return. You will know when that time has come. I can only tell you this now, Harry. Dreams can sometimes be powerful messengers for those willing to listen. You must trust your instincts. Trust your instincts." As he finished, Sir Lionel sat down on the small stool that was the only thing sharing his portrait. "That's all Dumbledore said."

"Oh." Harry was not quite sure what to make of this. He didn't understand everything that Dumbledore had said. He did understand that his headmaster was happy with the way the fighting was going and he also did not think Voldemort was planting dreams in Harry's head. That was a relief. He spoke carefully, giving a message to the old knight to take back to Dumbledore. "Well, tell him thank you and I will wait patiently as I have been." The knight gave him a rather disapproving look. "You, Harry Potter, have not been patient. You have been anything but patient." Harry flushed a little. "I'll try to wait more patiently, then." That seemed to appease Lionel and he disappeared again, and Harry sat down on the nearby couch and thought over what he had been told. He supposed this meant he could relax, at least a little bit. He felt a smile spread over his face. He would be seeing Cassie tomorrow night after all.